


Solitude

by HollowHeaven



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Redemption, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, every chapter is named after a The Neighborhood song because they own me, just not at first, this has gore but sweet moments too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 12:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowHeaven/pseuds/HollowHeaven
Summary: Earth no longer belongs to mankind. You have no problem leading a revolution to take your planet back, and he has no problem imprisioning you in the attempt to make sure that can never happen.The chances of getting away are slim to none.





	1. R.I.P. 2 My Youth

**Author's Note:**

> The only reasons I’m here is because 1) I have no self control and 2) my love for Whirl overrides my dumb decisions and 3) I got inspired by other Whirl fics on here. 
> 
> Imma just say this book will be, uh, very gory. Lots of blood, lots of violence. If you have a squeamish stomach, I suggest not reading. Otherwise, have fun reading whatever kind of trainwreck this’ll be. Slow burn with a pile of sarcasm all the way through. Much wig snatching.
> 
> This isn’t set in any particular universe. Well, it is the IDW LL universe, but it doesn’t follow the plot line. It might seem confusing at first but all will pan out as planned. So enjoy whatever garbage I’ve come up with this time. ;)

You stare into the pile of crackling sparks, red hot flames and twitching limbs with narrowed eyes.

A tsk passes through your clenched teeth at the pitiful sight. If you keep running into Autobots at this rate, you won’t have any more supplies to protect yourself with. No weapons means no living and you’re not ready to clock out yet.

You dig through your backpack, chewing at the raw skin inside of your cheek, and sigh when seeing you only have two grenades left. Two grenades would hold off one minibot but you could never hold your own against something any larger.

It’s time for another supply run. You wouldn’t have a problem with it if every time you went out to get something, it’s considerably more dangerous than it was the last time you’d ran out of something.

You had hoped for so much more with the Autobots but all they gave mankind was that of worse fates than death. Such a shame they had to snap the way they did. If they had turned their head to the side and drowned out the harsh words of the human race, maybe you could have been friends with the fellow crumbled in front of you.

Now they’re just a pile of scrap metal waiting to be picked apart. While it is saddening, you particularly don’t feel for the species that’s practically wiped out your entire planet. You’re a rare breed now, and that thought drives you closer to the brink of insanity every passing day. Seven billion human beings used to flourish. Now there’s a measly two million left and that number is constantly dropping.

Everyone did their best to fight back. The world pulled out all the stops, but nothing prevailed. While a few Autobots were taken down at the start of war, those victories didn’t last very long. The harder humans pushed, the harder Autobots pushed back.

The bigger the threat became, the more people gave up trying to keep their innocence in tact. Gangs started rise up during the fire and kill along with the enemy. Mothers and fathers began to abandon their children to death. Loyal pets began to attack their owners.

The earth shook - and still shakes - with chaos.

You couldn’t understand why the good guys were beginning to turn hostile, along with the rest of your species. They used to swear their lives over mankind, to protect and guard it as long as their sparks beat. What changed their minds? While humans had always ridiculed them and tore down their name, that never stopped them from caring.

You suppose when the Autobots lost their good will, humanity decided to give in, too.

There were the remaining few Autbots that rebelled against their orders and refused to kill a whole other species. Those Autobots found themselves being locked up, killed, or they disappeared entirely. You don’t see them around as they’re all in hiding. Those are the only Cybertronians you refuse to turn into a pile of spare parts. They protect you, you protect them. 

All you know is that the chaos has something to do with the Lost Light. Most importantly, it has something to do with Rodimus, the captain of the Lost Light. His positivity swept up every Cybertronian and human alike. He reminded you of Optimus, in a way. Until he ordered that the earth be swept clean from “filth.” He ordered every non-Cybertronian thing to be executed until all that remained was a new planet to call their own. You don’t know if it was out of pure spite or if there’s another motive under the malicious intent.

This wasn’t what Optimus had promised. He vowed to protect every sentient being, but now you’re in the middle of an apocalypse and don’t know what to believe anymore. Especially since you don’t have the Government trying to keep the peace and persuade the public that everything is fine.

Eventually, more and more Cybertronians started to show up. Both Autobots and Neutrals came to reek havoc. They would fall out of the sky like raindrops on a stormy day. You eventually learned that the word of a “renewed world” was getting out and drawing more of them in. Your world became a place of destruction and it’s obliterated close to every single thing that used to make earth feel like home.

There’s nothing left for you to lose. There’s nothing left for humanity to lose.

You didn’t know what to do at the beginning of it all. There was a lot of cowering in your house with a pistol gripped between your fingers, though you knew that a bullet would do no damage to something made out of metal. But the more time that passed, the more screams and cries for help you heard outside your window lead to your eventual come to realization moment.

Your dad was part of the military. He fought and bled for his people, so why couldn’t you do the same thing? There wasn’t a gun you couldn’t use or a slur of curses that you hadn’t memorized. He gave you the gift of torture and agility and you didn’t plan on letting those gifts go to waste.

You decided that cowering was the last you wanted to do. It was the last thing your family would want you to do. Before your dad had been killed in action, he left all of his weapons to you; locked up in a cabinet that was hidden in the basement of your childhood home. You wanted those weapons and you were going to make sure they landed in your hands.

As of now, you feel as if your only purpose is to kill and destroy just as the Autobots have done. There’s no Autobot, Neutral or corrupt human you won’t blow up with a couple grenades or shoot through the eye. But lately you have been laying low because of chatter amongst the Autobots. Chatter about you. They’re taking more and more losses no thanks to you, and your twisted mind and unchallenged fearlessness got noticed by the Lost Light crew.

They are a bunch of freaks that know what they’re doing. The Big Boys, if you will.

You may be a beast at taking down things that could crush you under their foot, but no way do you want to tangle with the Lost Light.

Not yet, at least.


	2. Void

A faint whistle echoes through the silent street, accompanied by fearful whispers, whimpers and pleads. All of which you ignore, a smile adorning your face.

Today feels nice. The wind bites against your bare skin, but it’s a nice change from the heat of smoldering flames. The sky is even blue, a rare sight compared to the blackness of smoke rising to drown out the natural colors. The sight of pink on your hands is a welcome change, too. This moment is different from the others. It feels almost intimate.

_If you could call killing intimate._

“Please. Just let me go,” the Autobot croaks, holding his servo out to stop you from coming any closer.

Your smile only stretches wider across the skin on your cheeks. It didn’t take but a mere few minutes to have him flat on his aft, one arm barely hanging on by the wires of his shoulder and pleading for his life. Fascinating how he was so quick to kill someone a few moments ago, but now that it’s his life in the line, he begs like a dog for table scraps.

“Isn’t that what that woman said just a minute ago?” You inquire, fingering the trigger of your grenade launcher with a head tilt, “You didn’t even hesitate to crush her under your foot, big guy. You squished her to the pavement. Her body isn’t recognizable anymore.”

Your eyes narrow at the lack of an answer. His head is turned away and his optics are shut tight, waiting for the inevitable death. A forced chuckle bubbles up at your throat at the lack of remorse on his face. He doesn’t care whether he killed that poor woman or not. He only cares about his own life.

You know what it’s like to have that state of mind; to always be concerned about yourself. But the difference between you and him? You’re going to continue living and he’s going to the fiery pits of hell, or wherever cruel place his soul is sent to. He won’t have to worry about his life for much longer.

“I’m sure you were a nice guy way back when. Really, I do,” you place a hand over your heart, “but you slaughtered my species to near extinction. There are puddles of human remains at every turn. I’ve seen some of _my_ friends get ripped in half at the hands of _your_ friends. You see where I’m going with this? Because I think you do.”

“I was just following orders,” he shudders, still struggling to back away.

“And I’m just following my instincts. You should understand,” you tap the side of your head, eyes crinkled in knowing criticism.

You kneel down, slinging your worn backpack off your shoulder and pulling out a grenade from the side pocket. The mech watches you with fear and confusion storming in the teal coloring of his optics. It takes all your willpower to bite back a grin that makes your bottom lip tremble in anticipation.

It is the small moments like these that make your blood run hot with adrenaline.

“I hope you know this hurts you more than it hurt me.”

You pull out your favorite pistol, fingers turning white from your deathly tight grip, and shoot out one of the Autobots optics. The loud bang from your pistol is followed by a hideous crack from the surface of his optic bursting. You purse your lips, staring with half lidded eyes as the Autobot feels over with a cry of pain, cupping his face to keep the energon from spilling out of his wound.

You huff through your nose and shoot out his other optic, lip crinkling when he cries out once again. How did he go from “I’m going to rip you apart” to whimpering like a baby? Your mom had always said the tougher they look, the weaker they are on the inside. You assumed that to be true since that statement had never been proven wrong.

While he’s struggling to refocus his senses without his eyesight, you make a run for his chest in which you climb to get to his face. His one working hand is stained pink as the life force continues to drain from his eye sockets. You admire the sight with a hum.

“I’d ask your name to be polite in these last few moments but I really don’t care about who you are. Nice chatting with you, big guy,” you salute him, although it’s purely because he can’t see.

You pat the side of his head before yanking the pin out of your grenade and stuffing in into one of his eye sockets. A mangled gasp is dragged from his throat as you jump off his chest and roll away to avoid being blown to bits beside him.

There isn’t a chance to look back and admire the fireworks before the grenade is already exploding inside the Autobot’s head. Energon droplets splatter against your back, along with tiny bits of shrapnel and other various parts you can’t identify. A disgusted moan leaves through the crack of your parted lips at the wetness seeping into your clothing. You rummage through your backpack in search for the tools you brought along, ready to rip apart every bolt and spring. Then to hustle out of the area as fast as you can.

At least it’s over and done with. That’s one less Autobot to deal with in the long run of things. Now it’s time to pick the corpse apart for anything you might want to make into a homemade weapon later on.

No doubt the commotion was heard from miles away and more Autobots will be around to investigate in ten minutes or less. Digging around for spare parts will have to be in a hurry today. You like to take your time and really study the pieces you pull from any Cybertronian corpse but there’s a fine line between taking your time and dying. You don’t want to get caught and have your body torn apart.

Rodimus will most likely come to the crime scene himself. While you’d love to stick a grenade in his eye socket and watch his head burst into flames like his paint job, you aren’t equipped to handle him as of now. Him or any of his friends aboard the Lost Light.

Your mental sanity may be degrading with every passing second but you aren’t stupid.

•••

“So guess what? I think we just lost another one!”

All optics land on Rodimus as he storms through the door of Swerve’s bar. Drift, Ratchet, Skids, Swerve, Chromedome, Rewind and Whirl all huddle up at a table as Rodimus sits down to bury his face into his servos. They all share a look, some more amused than others.

“Another one?” Drift is the first to ask.

“Yes, another one! I just got a report that an explosion happened nearby. That Autobot I sent out earlier was supposed to be back by now. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?” Rodimus sighs, his helm aching with the need to lay down and recharge.

“I don’t know why you’re flustered like you are,” Ratchet chimes in, his tone gruff, “It’s not like any of us knew his name. Especially you.”

“It’s the principal of it,” he starts, venom lingering under his tone of voice, “We keep losing people... to a human. Doesn’t that bother you?”

A silence linger over the table. No one says a word, too busy overthinking the fact that a human outlasted another one of their team members. You were like a ghost. Cyclonus had even tried to track you down at some point, and to no avail. Every trap they laid, every poison they released and still they haven’t been able to catch you.

As of now, they haven’t even seen you. They have no clue what you look like. The only way to get you would be to draw you out. But how? Even if you did show up, how would they identify you?

_“I think it’s pretty hot.”_

Everyone turns to stare at Whirl who’s nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders like what he said didn’t sound the least bit crazy. Swerve bursts into uncontrollable laughter, gripping the table to keep himself upright. Whirl only glares, his one yellow eye cutting in half to narrow.

“I’ve seen some weird things in my lifetime but Whirl admitting a human is attractive takes the cake,” Rewind snickers into his servo.

“Why is that hot to you?” Rodimus asks, exasperated.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Whirl crosses his arms, “But since you did it so _nicely_ \- note my sarcasm - I’ll tell you.”

Everyone gathers closer, eager to hear his reason why. Rodimus rolls his optics, disappointed in his own curiosity.

“They’re able to take down us. Us! We’re, like, ten times as big as humans. Plus, destroying things is instantly a turn on for me,” Whirl concludes, laughing when everyone groans at his confession.

Rodimus, through the wince on his face, finds himself smiling at a thought. It could work. With a lot of convincing, sure, but it was worth a try. The best shot they could get at catching you. Chromedome is the first to notice the odd expression of Rodimus’ face.

“What is your face doing,” he asks.

Rodimus leans forward towards Whirl, causing Whirl to lean as far back as he can. “How would you like to catch them?”

Whirl hisses something under his breath. “What.”

“If I were able to draw them out, would you catch them for me?”

“... Do I get to kill them?”

“No.”

“Then count me out,” Whirl stands from the table, ready to storm out. 

“Wait! I can’t let you kill them because they could be useful to us, but you can hurt them. Just a little bit,” Rodimus coaxes, pinching his fingers together.

Whirl eyes him for some time before sitting back down and snipping his claws, causing everyone to jerk back at the motion.

“How badly?” Whirl questions, rubbing the chin he doesn’t have. 

“A few broken bones. Maybe a little bit of bleeding. And you can torment them as long as you want,” Rodimus holds out his servo, “We got a deal?”

Everyone looks back and forth from between the two, too interested in Whirl’s answer to interrupt. Whirl stares at his servo for some time, deep in thought before sighing and waving Rodimus’ servo away.

“We’re not shaking servos, but fine. You got a deal.”


	3. Prey

You stare up at the ceiling of your room, trembling into your sheets with tears falling down the sides of your face. Gut wrenching sobs spill from your mouth as the fear from your nightmare chokes the life from your bones.

It isn’t killing you have a problem with. It’s the nightmares that follow those memories of snuffing out sparks, or gutting someone down the middle for trying to put a bullet through your forehead. The sight of blood thrills you. It is intoxicating. It gets you high, but all highs eventually wear off and you’re left feeling hollow and hungry for more.

You _hate_  it.

_It scares you._

A frantic knock on your door causes you to flinch, nails digging into your palms. You call for the person outside your door to come in with a croak and watery eyes. Your best friend comes barreling into your room, flicking on lights and shoveling all kinds of weapons into your backpack. You manage to sit up and swing your feet off the side of the bed, watching as she staggers around with flailing arms and incoherent mumbles.

“What is going on with you?” You ask, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand.

She comes to a stop at hearing the rawness of your voice. A knowing sigh leaves her chest once making eye contact with you, seeing the faint tear trails down your face and the sweat covering every inch of bare skin like a thin blanket.

“Another nightmare?” She sits down beside you, her hand finding your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you dodge her concern, shrugging off her hand with a huff, “what did you come charging in here for? You look worried.”

“You’re not going to like it,” she starts, “It’s bad. Really bad.”

“Then spit it out so I can destroy something and get over it,” you squint at her.

Max may be flighty at times but without her you would have completely lost your mind at this point. It was a good thing you found her when you did. While you were busy trying to coax her from suicide, she was holding a gun to her temple and threatening to end it all for herself. So in your act of kindness, you slapped her across the face and told her to man up and get over it. The world wasn’t completely over because a fraction, albeit very small, still lived. If she had killed herself, that was one less human to fight back.

You two have been tight ever since. She keeps you in line, talks to you whenever you need to talk, offers an ear when you need to rant. You have learned a lot about her quirks within the few months of being together and you know panic when you see it.

“It’s not that simple. They’re calling for you,” she places a hand on her forehead.

“Who?”

“Rodimus and some of his team. They’re demanding you turn yourself in,” she explains.

“Pfft, yeah right. Like I’m going to show up. That’s walking right into a trap,” you chuckle, running a hand through your damp hair.

Then she stares at you, her brows furrowed and eyes shining with something you can’t recognize. It isn’t fear or panic, both of which you are most familiar with. Your body goes rigid at her unwavering gaze.

“They’re threatening to drop a bomb, (Y/n). If you don’t show up, they kill every human in the area,” she snaps her fingers, “just like that.”

You stand from the bed, eyes wide and mouth going cotton dry. It’s hard to breath with the sudden pressure of every life depending on what you choose to do. Your hands, as if they weren’t already clammy, are now an unhealthy kind of slippery as you wipe them against your shirt.

“How do you know all this?” You question, knuckles going white.

“They sent a broadcast message over every radio station in the area. Rodimus himself requested you show up. You have to show up without any weapons and only the clothes on your back. This isn’t just some threat. They’re planning on killing you,” she bites her bottom lip, stuffing your backpack with as many grenades and exploding warheads you have available.

Her furious packing of weapons, weapons you’re not supposed to show up with, makes you think she might want you to show up with protection. Sadly, that isn’t how these things work.

“Do we know if they actually have a bomb to threaten us with? Max, even if they did drop a bomb, we wouldn’t be affected. We live in a bunker. The most we would feel is the shake of the blast,” you begin to pace around the room, tugging at the ends of your hair and biting at your nails.

“Are we willing to risk peoples’ lives, though?” She inquires, face going slack with guilt.

It takes you a second of ponder on the thought but you know deep down that you would never truly rest another day in your life if you were to turn your face away while people were blown to bits. You can’t help but scream at the top of your lungs and launch your fist at a wall. Max watches you with tears clogging her vision.

The pain from your knuckles colliding with the solid metal wall snaps you out of your erratic anger. You look down at the source of stinging to see the skin of your knuckles had split with contact and began to bleed.

It pains to you to admit it but you have officially been outbested.

“I can’t do it. I can’t knowingly get good people killed,” you say, shuffling over to Max and taking her hand.

“What are you going to do?” She asks, cupping her hand over your wounded knuckles. 

“The only thing I can do. I’ll surrender.”

Max pulls you into an embrace. You cling to each other for these last few moments, your face buried in her hair and her face buried into your shoulder. A muffled cry of remorse leaves her and you rub her back, eyes glossy and heart heavy.

“You’re going to die, aren’t you?” She pulls back enough to take in the details of your face, bottom lip quivering.

All you can manage is a faint nod and a forced smile. “Yeah, I think so. Promise me you’ll take my place in killing every last Autobot and Neutral you can. Make them sorry for me.”

She laughs at your determination before agreeing with her own eager nod. “I will never be you, (Y/n), but I’ll try.”

”That’s all anyone can do,” you murmur, “take care of my dad’s stuff, yeah? I’m passing it on to you. Use it. He’d want that.”

You breathe out, anxiety coiling in your stomach when you pull away from her warmth and friendship, knowing it will most likely be the last time you see her. It hurts you to get dressed in the clothes you’re going to get killed in, having Max stand there and watch you with such brokenness.

You head for the door, blood still dripping from your knuckles, and crane your head back to get one last look at Max who’s grinning from ear to ear. There’s tears falling down her face and her body is trembling but she’s never looked more thankful than she does now.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Your narrowed gaze softens, bringing forth the tears you tried to hold back. The last thing you wanted to do is cry in front of her.

A strained laugh is all you can manage to lighten the mood. “I would do it all over again.”

•••

The way there is misery. You’re crying and bleeding but there’s a flame within your chest that refuses to give up. It burns your skin, tears apart your insides and makes your anger boil.

All this time seemed as if it was for nothing. Every life you took, every night you spent curled in your bed sobbing into your pillow at the hatred you feel. You know it wasn’t a waste of time but at the moment, walking to your certain doom, you can’t help but think that maybe you could have done something more. Something better.

But that was the past and this is the present. The present has and never will be kind.

Your lips curl into a grim smile at seeing Rodimus waiting for you at the end of the street. Beside him is one of his friends. When you showed up there yesterday, you didn’t realize it would be the ground you fall on. Not only do you now have to deal with one hotheaded leader who thinks he owns the universe but now you have to deal with one of his incompetent friends, too.

You’re a couple yards away before they notice your tiny presence. Rodimus’ optics light up, although you can’t understand why he seems so excited to put a bullet through you. Is he twisted enough to savor the moment the light dies from your eyes? Wouldn’t surprise you if that is the reason why he’s practically shaking.

His friend seems just as excited about you being here. You had seen him in action enough to know he’s the best in the business. Those claws he has? They have severed people in half and at no effort. While you don’t know his name, the yellow glow from his one unblinking eye makes shivers run down your spine and goosebumps to crawl up your arms. 

He’s very interesting, you will admit. His body type is lanky and looks almost frail, but you know he’s quite the opposite. If you were to pick the most frightening Autobot on the Lost Light, you would choose him. 

“Who are you?” Rodimus pipes up, smiling sweetly.

“Who do you think I am?” You blink, crossing your arms over your chest.

“ _You’re_ the human we called for?” Rodimus’ friend exclaims, his one optic narrowing in skepticism, “You’re a, uh, girl? Yeah, you’re a girl!”

Your mouth drops. Did he really just insult you for being a woman?

“Listen,” you start with a growl, “I may be a _girl_ but I’ve taken down tons of you guys. If I weren’t forced to be here without weapons, I’d most definitely come after you first. I came here to be killed, not to be ridiculed because of my gender.”

Rodimus and his friend share a look. Their optics are the size of saucers, and you’re pretty sure that if the guy with claws had a mouth, it would have hit the ground. You glare at them both, trying your hardest to swallow down any other insults or petty comments that could most definitely get interpreted the worst way possible. Would they kill you or torture you then kill you? 

You’re not too sure so it seems playing it safe is the best option.

“You think we’re here to kill you?” Rodimus asks, scratching the back of his neck.

Is that a trick question? It feels like a trick question.

You shake your head, perplexed. “What else would you do?”

“Whirl, tell her what’s going to happen,” Rodimus says, a grin lighting up his face.

Whirl, the ‘bot that looks like something out of one of your nightmares, crouches down in front of you and tilts his head. You don’t bother to shuffle back, but there’s a sense of dread lingering just under your calm exterior that makes it hard to not break into a sprint.

“I know this is the first time we’re seeing each other, but can I say that I _like_ you? Because if it wasn’t for the whole killing our team members and all that junk, we might have been friends,” Whirl starts, patting the top of your head with one of his claws, “but I’ve been given the chance to rough you up a bit. Y’know, break some bones... give you a few bruises. Then after that, we take you back to our ship where Rodimus will use you for, well, I don’t exactly know. But it won’t be pleasant.” 

The alarms in your head are screaming for you to do something. Anything. Take a swing, make a run for it, try to talk them down. You know that whatever you do, there’s no way out. You handed yourself to them on a silver plater.

A long exhale leaves your lungs, hands now draped at your side and clenched so tight they have become numb. You’re staring Whirl straight in the eye, both challenging him and silently pleading for him to reconsider. This is how you treated every single one of your kills. Now you know the whimpering, pleading, and begging behind the fear.

It isn’t death that scares you. It’s torture.

“Then do it,” you grunt, “but if you accidentally kill me, I’m coming back haunt you.”

Whirl snickers, a sound of amusement and disbelief coming from who knows where, and lifts up his arm to swat at you. You squeeze your eyes shut, body going stiff and bracing yourself for impact. There’s a moment of hesitation where you want to open your eyes and ask why there’s been a pause, but you’re suddenly knocked back. You hit the asphalt of the road multiple times before your skin begins to skid across the rocks and coming to a rolling stop.

Your vision is blurry and you would be concerned with the fact that everything is fuzzy if you weren’t trying to gasp for breath, seeing as all air had been knocked from your lungs at first impact with the road. You roll to your side, chest rattling with coughs as you try to drink in air.

“This _sucks_ ,” you wheeze, hands clawing at your shirt.

“That look like it hurt!” Whirl winces, stalking over to ring your neck.

You’re picked up by the back of your shirt, held up in the air like a rag doll by the ends of Whirl’s claws. You end up laughing at him, both hands flipping him the bird. If you pester and prod at his ego enough, maybe he will go ahead and kill you. You don’t want to end up as some lab rat or punching bag for the rest of your life.

“You should try harder,” you provoke him, lips tipped into a cheeky smile, “break a few bones. You said you would, right?”

Whirl doesn’t attempt to say anything back. You gape as the fullness of his optic shrinks down into nothing but a small, pea-sized dot. His frame begins to shake as he laughs the most insane laugh you have ever heard in your life. It’s raw and rich with enjoyment.

He sounds a lot like you. It makes your blood run ice cold.

“I am _so_ going to enjoy this.”

Whirl takes his free claw and grips one of your arms just at the base of your shoulder. You grind your teeth together the more pressure he pinches down with, and eventually you can hear the snap of bone splitting in two. When he pulls his claw away, you can see the whiteness of bone stand out against the blood and broken skin. The only thing keeping your arm from falling off is the last little bit of flesh that hadn’t been sliced through.

Whirl seems to drink in your shriek of agony and the fluttering of your eyes. You try your hardest to stay awake but everything goes dark after that.


	4. A Moment of Silence

You wake up with a gasp, as if you’d been under water for far too long. There’s an almost unbearable ache lingering under the base of your skull and the bitter taste of iron in your mouth.

So you lived. That, or Heaven is nothing like you imagined it to be.

A string of coughs rattle your lungs and you can’t keep tears from stinging at your eyes at the pain that erupts throughout your chest. It takes several minutes of gritting your teeth and sobbing at the sore afflictions on your body to you drag yourself into a sitting position to survey your injuries.

You look over your broken arm first to make sure that you aren’t still bleeding out. Much to your surprise, someone was smart enough to realign your broken bones, stitch up the split skin, wrap some gauze around the closed wound to keep out dirt or other bacteria, and keep everything aligned with a homemade cast. It may be two boards typed on each side of your arm but you appreciate the support nonetheless. The splits on your knuckles had also been treated with stitches and gauze, as well. If your wounds had continue to be left untreated, all sorts of things could have happened. Infection, going into shock from blood loss, or loss of limb all together.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world to lose an arm but it would make killing things a little harder. Whoever patched you up, you’re more than grateful.

You grunt when pulling up your shirt to examine the source of pain erupting through your rib cage. Lo and behold, there are bruises the size of your hand splattered across your skin in a dark purple color. No doubt there are broken ribs just under the damaged exterior of purpling flesh. That would explain the pain that sucks the breath from your lungs every time you go to inhale. It wouldn’t surprise you to find out if there is some internal bleeding.

You’re sweaty, smell strongly of old, browning blood and could pass out from the pain exploding behind your eyes but it could be worse. As far as you can tell, you didn’t sustain any injuries to your legs except a few minor bruises. No doubt it would take weeks to heal, but you managed to survive the attack of the cyclops.

It feels like a huge accomplishment that will only last for so long.

Unfortunately, you weren’t as so lucky to avoid the effects of fever or nausea that came along with being alive. You can’t keep from shivering even though your skin is practically melting off at the simplest touch of your fingers or wanting to lurch over to spill whatever is left in your stomach. The only thing giving you relief from the hotness of your fever is the cool metal you have been laying on for who knows how long. In all this time looking over yourself, you had forgotten to take a look at your surroundings.

You definitely aren’t outside where the grass is green and the air is fresh. In fact, the air doesn’t have a smell at all. It fits the view of metal walls, what seems to be metal beds and the bright, florescent lights above head. The room looks to be some sort of hospital, though you can’t be sure. Everything is unusual and foreign and no way are you going to make any assumptions.

You made it onto the Lost Light, then? It would seem so. 

“About time you got up. Get enough sleep?”

You whip your head towards the door to find two ‘bots in which you don’t know shuffling inside. Your calm demeanor is swept away the second they reach you, and you’re beginning to bristle at the close proximity. The sullen expression on your face morphs into that of a scowl.

One of them is bulkier in figure with hard, cold optics and an expression that says there’s to be no messing around when he’s in the room. The another one is considerably smaller and much less blocky looking like his friend, although you can’t help but fidget under his inquisitive stare. There’s something about the smaller one that brings you a sense of peace. The smile on his face does strike you as a bit odd. 

“What? No thanks for the people who saved your life?” The larger one scoffs.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you murmur under your breath loud enough for them to hear.

The room goes silent with tension as the words leave the safety of your lips. You expected something remarkably rude to be spout back but all you get is a tight-lipped frown instead.

“Your wounds were pretty severe,” he ignores your ungratefulness and continues, “If not for Rung here, you would have bled out. He was able to stitch you up nicely. I would have done it myself but these hands would have done more damage than good.”

You look back and forth between the two before all tension releases from your body. It was now that you decided getting all flustered was not the most beneficial for you and your situation at the moment. They did save your life, or so as they say, and if you were them, you would want some gratitude. They should have let you bleed out as that would have been better, but they didn’t and you can’t ignore that.

You won’t thank them for their deeds but you’re a woman of morals. The least you can do is stray from insulting them every ten seconds.

“Why not let me die? You didn’t have to help me,” you wince, a hand cupping your side.

“I’m a Medic. It’s kind of my job to save lives,” the big guy says, “although not human lives. That was new for me.”

The longer you look at him, the more he does look like a medic to you. The tired optics, his monotonous expression. The guy has probably seen more than his fair share of tragedies and then some. The little guy beside him, Rung as you heard before, doesn’t look like a medic or anything close to it. His aura radiates with that of something completely different than that of a medic’s tired, dealing with life everyday because they have to attitude; something incredibly sweet. His smile is kind enough to cause your heart to flutter if looked at long enough.

“How did you know what to do?” You ask.

The reply is that of a long, drawn out sigh. “I always knew Rodimus would kidnap a human one day. It was only a matter of time. I thought I might learn about human biology while I had the chance. Seems it worked out in your favor.”

You clench your jaw at the mention of Rodimus’ name. Rung notices the action and his smile goes slack with curiosity.

“You aren’t too fond of him, are you?” He inquires softly.

If you were trapped in a room with three people you hate the most, Rodimus being one of them, and two bullets to take two of them out, you would use both on Rodimus without a second thought. Of course you _aren’t too fond of him_. He gave orders to slaughter your people, and who knows what other atrocities he has committed.

You still have no idea what he wants you alive for. It’s unnerving not knowing the purpose of his mercy.

“No. I don’t care too much for any of you,” you bite back with a hiss, “I’m sure you know why.”

Rung opens his mouth to say something before giving up with a sigh. His head falls along with his gaze. It’s as if he can’t look you in the eye after addressing the elephant in the in room.

You don’t know if it’s a gut feeling or an assumption but Rung doesn’t seem like the type to want destruction and death. Some Autobots did want to salvage humanity. Maybe Rung is one of those Autobots that wanted peace, not war. It would explain the shame that his posture carries.

If that is the case, he has nothing to fear from you.

“Sorry to ruin the moment but Rodimus says he wants to see you,” the other guy grumbles.

You chuckle, a sarcastic smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’m sure he does.”

The medic grunts, refusing to acknowledge your heavy sarcasm, and reaches out to snatch you from the table. You jerk back across the metal slab, hissing like a trapped wild animal. Your ribs scream at the sudden movements and your vision to sway. Your vision had been cloudy this whole time, but moving too fast makes your world spin.

“Don’t even think about touching me,” you narrow your eyes, trying clear your eyesight while also looking somewhat threatening.

You doubt you look anywhere near threatening considering the situation but at this point you don’t have much to lose.

“Well how else am I supposed to get you to Rodimus?” He narrows his optics back.

Rung steps in, holding out his arm to push back the medic with a shake of his head. “Perhaps you let me handle this, Ratchet?”

You watch as Ratchet takes a step back, his servos held up in surrender. Rung then directs his attention you, his soft blue optics boring into your soul. You take a deep breath through your nose, anxiety filling your stomach.

It almost seems like it is his job to pick people apart with just one look. You don’t like it and melt into it all at once.

“If you don’t let us help you, I’m afraid you could cause further injury to yourself. I know you hate us for what we have done to your planet and your species but please let me help you,” he pleads, both servos held out to scoop you up.

A minute goes by with you thinking over the pros and cons before all you can do is nod with a grimace. Rung seems the least likely to want to hurt you. If you’re going to get around it might as well be with him.

What other choice do you have?

“Alright,” you agree, “you can pick me up.”

Rung slides one of his servos under you, careful not to bump anything near your middle section or your arm. His other servo cups around your body like a barricade as he pulls you to his chest. It takes all your willpower not to snuggle into his servo any further. Both of his servos are warm, and while heat is the last thing your fever needs right now, you can’t help but enjoy the warmth to ease your immune-system induced shivering.

Ratchet then leaves the room and Rung follows in step behind him. The hallways go on for what seems like forever, and every time you pass by someone new, they don’t bother to try not to stare. All the gazes lingering over you makes your skin crawl with annoyance.

“Listen, kid,” Ratchet slows to a stop in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway and turns to you, “I’m going to give you a piece of advice. Rodimus can be reckless if challenged enough and you aren’t the most _soft spoken_  person I’ve met. So just keep your mouth shut and you might live another day.”

You can’t help but snort. “Who said I wanted to live? I don’t plan on just taking everything he says with a smile. If anything, I’m going to try and get him to kill me.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Rung questions with an uneasiness lingering under his tone.

His question goes unanswered as the door slides open and Ratchet drags you both inside the room. Apparently all the talking was starting to grate on his nerves. You have been watching him enough to know that pretty much everything grates on his nerves. Not that you can’t relate.

“Look who finally made it!”

Rodimus trots over to Rung, clasping him on the shoulder with a smile. You slink further into Rung’s grip with a quiet hiss through your clenched teeth when he bends down to get a look at you.

“You can give me her now,” Rodimus orders Rung, servo held out.

Rung’s body goes tense at the command. His gaze wavers from Rodimus’ face to you while his hands begin to shake. You watch with confusion written over your features, mentally asking why he’s hesitating against one of Rodimus’ orders.

“Take care of yourself,” he grits out before begrudgingly setting you in Rodimus’ palm. 

“Ratchet, escort Rung back to his cell, would you?”

You do a double-take at the command. Did he just say cell? No wonder his presence feels different than the rest. Rung isn’t one of them, he’s a prisoner - a rebeller. His pause just then wasn’t out of fear, it was part defiance.

Your heart clenches when he is dragged from the room by his forearm. Rung catches your eyes one last time, his expression unreadable before the door shuts. You stare at the door with wide eyes and a throbbing ache somewhere deep within your mind.

You thought you knew what you needed to do. Now you aren’t so sure.

Rodimus sets you down on what seems to be some sort of control pad with buttons and levers and thing you don’t even try to make sense of. He doesn’t make the effort to be as gentle as Rung and let’s you hit the surface so hard it draws the breath from your chest. You struggle for breath on natural instinct alone, gasping into your one free hand.

“I didn’t think you could get anymore _pathetic,”_ you say through a string of coughs, “but I stand corrected.”

“Oh, you mean Rung?” He jabs a thumb behind his shoulder with a tilt of his head, completely ignoring your insult, “Rung refused to help us conquer the earth. We still need him from time to time so we keep him locked up in a cell just in case something happens.”

How did he say that without realizing he sounds like a psychopath? 

Apparently your face said what you were thinking just then. His smile vanishes with just a snap of your fingers and there’s this darkness that passes over the glare of his optics. A lump forms in your throat at his sudden change in character. You shield your chest and arm from view, the hairs on the back of your neck standing in end.

“But enough about him,” he waves his hand, “I’m assuming you want to know why you’re here.”

A few seconds ago you would have snapped at him for assuming something so obvious but now that he’s standing in front of you with an unusual half-smirk half-grimace you decide to keep your lips zipped shut. Usually this would be a good opportunity to provoke him as you had done Whirl, but after seeing Rung get jerked from the room in the manner that he was, like he was nothing but a puppet tied to strings, you want to stick your neck out and help him. That means not getting yourself killed no matter how badly your soul itches to roam free.

Rung probably risks his life to save humans everyday. The least you can do is return the favor. 

Are you willing to admit that helping out an Autobot would be in your best interest? You would rather drink acid. But you know what feeling like a prisoner is like and you wish that on no one that doesn’t deserve it. Rung is innocent enough. If he were in your shoes, you are seventy percent sure he would do the same for you. Now all you have to do is improvise, heal enough to be able to move without crumbling to the floor, possibly get in a few minds around the Lost Light. The more friends you make, a better chance you get to help out Rung and get yourself out.

It’s going to be a lot of work, a lot of forced smiles and possibly some blood, sweat, and tears. You like a challenge but this mission is going to take the cake if all turns out as planned.

“You have killed a lot of my Autobots. Some say you have a knack for it. I can use that,” Rodimus says.

“For what? You want me to kill you? Because I would _happily_  do so,” you hum with a smirk.

“No, I need you to kill some runaways for me. Some Autobots rebelled and when we went to bring them in, they ran. I have Whirl and Cyclonus tracking them down these days,” Rodimus examines his nonexistent nails, giving you the side eye.

“Whirl doesn’t need help killing anything. He’s a war machine on his own,” you narrow your eyes.

“That is very true. Whirl may be the best at killing things but that doesn’t mean we catch every Autobot that gets away. Some stay hidden, some manage to escape. They know we’re after them and that makes the job harder. But you... you are the perfect bait. They come out to help you, you take them by surprise and,” he makes a cutthroat motion, “end them.”

“What makes you think I want to help you? I can refuse all I want. Death doesn’t scare me,” your lips curl into a cheeky smile.

“Oh, I know. Whirl hardly made you flinch. Whirl makes everyone flinch,” Rodimus starts to pace, servo stroking his chin in thought, “So if you don’t cooperate, I’ll drop that bomb I mentioned. That’s the whole reason you gave yourself up, right? To keep that from happening?”

You smile falls into that of unmistakable horror. Rodimus chuckles at your reaction and bends down in front of you with his own cheeky smile. You forgot about the bomb with all the body mutilation and being kidnapped.

How could you forget about the one thing you surrendered for? Talk about one huge screwup.

“What’ll it be?”

You don’t want to kill anyone that doesn’t deserve your wrath, but your first priority is mankind. Innocent Autobots shouldn’t have to die by your hand but every human in the area is depending on your answer. There is no thinking this one over. You know the answer, and Rodimus knows the answer, too.

“Okay,” you breath out shakily, “You win. I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a big filler. Sorry about that. The next chapters will be much better, I promise. 
> 
> (This chapter is unedited as of now. Will be reread and edited later.)


	5. Cry Baby

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Not since I was threatened for the second time this week.”

Rodimus chuckles at your ill-tempered remark. Had he not threatened you and earth, you might have thought the sound resonating from his throat cute.

“You sure are sour,” he scratches under your chin, only to have you slap his servo away.

“I wonder _why,_ ” you seeth, “Just stop talking to me and focus on where you’re going.”

You have been stuck in Rodimus’ servo, traveling through the halls for what seems like forever now, and you still have no idea where he is taking you. Rodimus gave no indication of leaving the control room until you were roughly picked up by the back of your shirt, placed you in his palm and proceeded to leave through the sliding doors with a skip in his step.

Every time he takes a step, pain jolts through your body like crackling electricity. He knows he’s hurting you, too. While the ache won’t kill you, you sure have a hard time not throwing yourself from his grasp and hitting the floor to, well, _not_ feel the pain. There is also no comfort in the fact that you are running on pure adrenaline now, so how badly will you ache after your body has settled down?

Your body is starting to get tired despite all of the blacked out sleeping you had done not too long ago. What worries you is that fact that if you continue to resist letting your eyelids fall, your body will eventually do it for you. Falling asleep is more than dangerous, especially since you are being held captive. Who knows what might happen if you let your guard down.

Now you feel stupid for crying after you scraped your knee when you were little. The stinging of those opens wounds no where near compare to the internal bleeding and broken appendage you have now, or the heaviness of your eyes and the yawns threatening to take over.

You miss those simpler times. Seems like you have been missing the past more and more lately.

Rodimus comes to a stop just outside out of a room that looks like a gathering area, and voices of all kinds are heard whispering and murmuring inside. You can hear at least a few hundred Autobots and a strangled grunt is the only thing you can get out as a reaction.

“You’re about to meet the entire ship,” Rodimus says, peering through the doorway to show you the flood of Cybertronians, “and they are going to want to hear you say something. I don’t want that something to be a threat or anything of that nature, got it?”

You swallow down the fright bundling up in your throat. Rodimus patiently waits on your answer with an agonizingly slow tapping of his pede. You avert your gaze, hiding under the curtain of your hair to curse under your breath without being seen. The shade of your baby hairs can only hide you for so long before you are forced to give an answer.

You hate this. So much that you would rather slit your tongue on razors than be here helplessly depending on the species that wants to kill you.

Does he realize that no matter how much ordering he uses against you, you are going to fight back anyway? Sooner or later, he will find out that you aren’t easily swayed. That moment came sooner rather than later, and there is a great possibly it will come back to bite you where it hurts.

“I don’t have to listen to you,” you turn around to snap back, unable to hide the scornfulness hidden under your breath, “but I’ll keep my mouth shut if they keep their mouths shut.”

“That’s not the answer I wanted to hear,” Rodimus tsks with a shake of his head.

“It’s the one you got. You’re not getting a different one.”

Rodimus runs a servo over his face to wipe off the annoyance and frustration that is beginning to show. “We are going to have to work on that attitude of yours. As for now, we have a crowd to please.”

You fight back the urge to mock him like the child you are, biting your bottom lip and squeezing your jaw as hard as you can without drawing blood. His cockiness grates on your nerves like nails to a chalkboard.

The room goes silent, the type of silent that is too quiet for anyone’s liking, when Rodimus saunters in, holding you out like you are his biggest accomplishment. You survey the room with squinted eyes and spot Whirl leaning against the wall across the room. His optic flashes open wide when he sees you sitting in Rodimus’ palm with a heavy scowl and a nasty glare.

Rodimus stands up on a table in the front of the room and begins his speech. You try your best not to stare at Whirl the whole time.

“You are all probably wondering why I called you here,” Rodimus starts, “and this is why.”

He stretches out his arm and flattens his palm and far down as it will go to show you in all your glory. You huff through your nose and roll your eyes when a few hushed gasps are followed by waves of whispering and equally nasty glares as the one you have.

“We finally caught her: the one killing Autobots in the area. I was surprised when I first saw her, too, but don’t let her appearance fool you. She is sharp witted and will kill you as soon as the she gets the chance. Don’t worry about that for now, because she is obviously in no condition to go an a killing spree.”

You would be flattered for his “compliment” about your sharp wit if he hadn’t low-key insulted your appearance. But you have to give him the accuracy of his speech, seeing as you really would go on a rampage if not for your _condition_. Apparently you are starting to get predictable, and being predictable gets people killed nowadays.

“What does she have to say for herself?” A shout resonates from the middle of the crowd.

What do you have to say for yourself? You can’t hide the fact that you find the question more than amusing and begin to cackle at your loudest volume. Whirl visibility perks at your unexpected reaction, along with a few others who are a bit less enthusiastic and frowning.

By the time Rodimus has noticed the chance to keep your words on a tight leash was just cut short, you had already started to snide every Cybertronian in the room.

“You—you say that like _I’m_  the one at fault here!” You manage to say between breaths of laughter, flicking away the tears that have gathered in the corners of your eyes.

The smile on your face withdraws as quick as it had come. Your gleeful expression is replaced by a menacing snarl, teeth bared and a dangerous flash in your colorless eyes.

“I didn’t think you guys could get any more _stupid_ than you already are!” You scream back, shoving back the alienated stares with more anger.

You reel over and clutch your head with a moan of pain when Rodimus leaves the room in a rush. There isn’t enough time to catch what he had said before fleeing the scene, but you are sure he said something along the line of “I’ll be right back.”

“I thought I told you to watch what you say!” Rodimus coils a fist around your frame.

You blink a few times to clear your head and grin innocently at seeing Rodimus’ boiling anger. “I told you I would watch my words if they watched theirs. They had the nerve to blame me, so I gave them my honest answer.”

The longer you talk, the tighter his grip gets. You fight for breath and softly cry out at the pain the erupts through your ribcage at the tightening pressure. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to talk back just then. When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut. It was working before.

“Whoaaaaa, I have never seen those losers lose their cool before. Talk about plentiful surprises today.”

Rodimus’ firm grip loosens and you take the freedom to gulp in as much as air you can. You use your free arm to shield your waist, sweat beading down your face and the taste of blood in your mouth.

Whirl stalks into the hallway, his claws snapping about and one optic blinking several times in shock. He’s flailing and bouncing around like a toddler on a sugar high.

How did he get enjoyment out of that mess of a speech? You suppose it is his twisted humor coming into play.

“What are they saying?” Rodimus grits out.

“Oh, just how they want to get revenge and all that junk. I lost interest after that,” Whirl answers with a chuckle, “What I didn’t lose interest in is this pipsqueak here.”

You don’t bother to pull back when Whirl snaps his claws close to your face, too worried about spewing your insides all of Rodimus who was already about to break your spine in half. Rodimus gives you a hateful side glance before jutting you towards Whirl’s chest.

“Take her. I have to take care of this. When I get back, we will talk about the conditions of her staying here.”

Whirl obliges with a chirp and picks you up by the back of your shirt. Rodimus wastes no time barreling back into the room without sparing a glance back to make sure you were going to be okay. Not that you expected him to care for your wellbeing after your meltdown.

“Aren’t you full of surprises,” Whirl examines you, prodding at your side only to pull back at your warning hiss, “I didn’t think you would make it, Pipsqueak.”

Whirl is easily the most dangerous Autobot aboard the Lost Light but in the twisted fate of your life, you feel safer being in his claws rather in Rodimus’ servos. He may be impulsive but you doubt he would take this one chance to get rid of you for good. It doesn’t seem like his character to do away with you before having a little fun first.Or maybe you are reading him the wrong way. You have no clue what to think anymore.

“I wish I didn’t make it,” you whisper under your breath, avoiding eye contact.

“Can I just say you look _terrible_? Because you look terrible, Pipsqueak.”

“Stop calling me pipsqueak, you _overgrown cyclops_!” You yell, muscles clenching in irritation.

Whirl quiets at your remark, looking over the expression on your face, which is the most bitter he has seen you so far, and can’t help but laugh back at you after a few seconds of studying your upmost annoyance with his nickname for you.

“What else am I supposed to call you? Honestly, _I don’t care_  to know your real name. You aren’t worth the time of getting to know,” Whirl flicks at your damp hair with a chortle, “so pipsqueak you will stay. I said I liked you, not that I wanted to get to know you. Don’t mistake that for acceptance.”

You halt in your struggling against his grip on the back of your shirt, skin growing cold at his harsh words. A small feeling of unwanted emotions flood through your veins.

Why do his words _hurt_?

You have been beaten, broken, threatened, blamed and accused in the last two days alone. Throughout the past couple days, all you have felt is resentment. Burning resentment that’s flooded every thought and feeling, but after hearing Whirl reject you, you can’t help but deflate with grief.

You are a human—something treated as nothing. You are, as of now and most likely the rest of your limited days, a tool. No one really needs you, no one wants you, and no one knows you are singlehandedly saving an entire city from annihilation expect your captors.

For the first time in the past two days, you want to curl up and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait! Getting this story going is taking much longer than I had expected. 
> 
> I’m having a bit of writer’s block, so please be patient with me. If you do stick around, I promise this story will get better. Oof, thank you to everyone who enjoys this story! It means a lot.


	6. Kill Us All

How long have you been glaring at your lap now?

You can’t place an exact answer to that. All you know is that having Rung clinging to you with his delicate servos and offering a warm smile when you glance up at his face feels much better than being handled by the back of your shirt. You don’t know why he keeps smiling at you, seeing as there is absolutely nothing to smile about, but you appreciate his positivity nonetheless.

Seeing Rung again after being handled by Whirl was like taking a breath of fresh air after centuries of being trapped in a prison cell. There was no pity on his face and that of joy instead. His face lit up at seeing you were still alive. The second after Whirl had dropped you in his hands, he began to question if you were okay and if you needed to talk about what was in your mind.

His concern with your wellbeing made tears break to the surface. Luckily, no one noticed before you forced them back down.

As of now, you have been avoiding the optics of everyone except Rung for at least ten minutes tops. Rodimus gathered up his closest friends, that including Rung and the reason you were able to see him again so soon, and held a smaller meeting over what to do with you. Things were discussed like who you were going to stay with while healing, who your guardian and transport would be aboard the ship, where you would eat, sleep, bathe and anything of the like. No one could come up with an exact answer for any of it, so with lost interest, you let your head fall and your thoughts drown out their voices.

The few that Rodimus had gathered up was a peculiar bunch, you admit. That reason alone is why you won’tmake direct eye contact with any of them. If you did, you might realize for the second time in a matter of hours that you need to hide in a dark place and cry for awhile. Breaking into tears is not something you plan on doing in front of a bunch of alien strangers that keep glancing at you wearily every time your presence is mentioned. They look at you with pity.

There’s nothing more you _despise_  than pity.

“Whirl, you’re going to take care of her. Be her guardian, of sorts. And since she seems to have cozied up to Rung, he can help out every once in a while.”

You glance to Whirl, along with everyone else in the room, who’s standing to his tallest height and trembling with something you identify as rage. Now isn’t the time to get caught up admiring his appearance but you can’t help finding yourself wide eyed at how much taller Whirl is compared to most. His height is frightening and impressive all at the same time.

_“I have to what.”_

His fiery gaze lands on you in an instant. A clench of your jaw keeps you from saying anything too unwise in the moment. You may be the problem but you didn’t ask to be in this situation, either.

You have no idea how someone can have no face and one eye and still look like they want to tear you apart. A faint crinkle of your upper lip causes him to whip his head back Rodimus who is completely unfazed by Whirl’s brashness.

“If you don’t watch after her, she will get away. I don’t think you realize how much of a threat she is if she gets away. We all have to keep an eye on her, but since you’re out in field with Cyclonus, she can help,” Rodimus says, crossing his arms, “Like it or not, this is the best option.”

You scoff under the puff of your breath. The way he talks about you like he knows you makes your skin prickle.

“This wasn’t part of our deal! I didn’t realize I would have to take care of the twerp! If you want her out in the mess then let Cyclonus take care of her. This is _not_  happening—“ Whirl starts, only to get cut off by Rodimus holding out a hand before he can finish.

“It is, and you are going to have to get over it. Cyclonus already takes care of Tailgate and you know that.”

Whirl’s claws snap together with all the force he can muster before shoving aside an Autobot with purple armor, crimson colored optics, the facial structure of a human skull and two horns on his head to get to the door. Whirl doesn’t bother to stop and apologize in his fit of ill temperament, only stomping out of the room with a string of violent curses following in suit. His footsteps are hard and heavy trailing down the hallway and it feels like an eternity before he isn’t heard anymore.

“That sociopath will end up killing me the first chance he gets,” you speak up with a grunt.

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. While Whirl calms down and probably destroys something to get back at me, you can stay with Rung in his room. I’ll have Ratchet stop by with some supplies for you later,” Rodimus rubs a hand over his face with a sigh.

You don’t want to know where they will be getting these said supplies. It’s probably better you don’t know, and no way will you be asking. They provide the necessities and you keep your mouth shut.

Ratchet, who hadn’t said anything the entire time, finally pipes up from where he’d been hiding in the corner. “Good idea. I’ll check your injuries while I’m at it.”

Rung’s body is shaking, not enough to be noticeable to the bare eye, but enough for you to feel it under your clammy skin. A soft smile curls at your lips when looking at Rung’s face to see excitement. You don’t why his controlled excitement makes you happy, but it just does. There’s a peace about Rung that hugs every good feeling deep within your being. It reminds you of a mother’s love, almost.

“I get to be in my room for the night?” Rung asks with an eager bite of his bottom lip.

Rodimus let’s his mouth curve into a genuine smile. His fondness over Rung gleams in the blue glow of his optics and it almost takes your breath away to know that Rodimus cares for someone other than himself. But you suppose that he does care for others more than he lets on. He is slaughtering an entire planet to preserve his own race.

You would think it sweet if you weren’t on the losing side of the war.

•••

Rung’s room was everything like you expected and more. It was homey for that of an extraterrestrial being made out of metal.

The first thing you notice upon entering is his display of ship models. There is at least more than six presented on a shelf and an incomplete one littering a desk in the opposite corner of the room from a bed. Although the bed is made out of metal and is hard as a rock, anything looks suitable enough to sleep on for the night. You wouldn’t admit it but sleeping next to Rung for the night, enveloped in the warmth from his frame, might not be such a bad thing.

“You two don’t try anything. Ratchet will be here later,” Rodimus says before the bedroom door slides shut.

Rung doesn’t bother to say anything in return. A soft smile lingers on his mouth as he scans his room for the first time in who knows how long. You can’t bring yourself to ruin the moment by saying something so you opt for laying your head on his chest instead.

“I haven’t been in here since we first landed,” Rung starts with a comfortable sigh, “It feels good to be back.”

He shuffles over to his bed where he sets you down so you can finally relax. You cradle your broken arm with a thankful smile, appreciative words right on the tip of your tongue. You trust Rung very little but it’s enough for you to want to thank him verbally. The thoughts of thanks never get past your lips, though. Something inside you refuses to fully acknowledge his kindness.

“How are you feeling?”

Rung sits down beside you, his hands clasped in his lap as he looks down on you with such gentleness. A long exhale leaves your lungs before you can muster up the courage to be honest with him. Honest enough, that is.

“Awful,” your answer comes out short.

“You want to talk about it?”

You stare at Rung’s face with furrowed eyebrows and a sinking frown. The sting of emotions scratch for a way out just beneath your skin and it’s getting harder to bite them back.

“There’s something about you. You can pick people apart with just one look, and when you do it to me...” You trail off, nails digging into your palms.

“I am a psychiatrist. It’s my job to pick people apart, but I also help piece them back together. Right now you’re sad and very conflicted which is understandable. No one has treated you with fairness since you were taken aboard. I can see it in your eyes.” Rung points out.

You purse your lips, very much conflicted as he had said, and shuffle over to cuddle up by his side. The warmth of his body comforts your aches but causes your chest to tighten. You didn’t want to show weakness in front of him, especially since you have a reputation to uphold, but you suppose there is no way to hide it any more. Rung knows.

“You don’t have to talk about it. But I am here to listen.”

Not every word leaves his mouth before you’re cupping a hand over your eyes to hide the tears threatening to fall. Rung curls a hand around your back to comfort you the best he can. You lean into his touch on an instinct.

“I never got your name, you know. It would be nice to have something to call you.”

You hide your face in his side to block his sight of the stray tears escaping between your fingers and down your cheeks. The tremble of your bottom lip is almost too unbearable and you clamp your jaw tight to keep it still.

He cares. You think he cares, at least. Enough to ask your name, cradle you to his side without a compliant and welcome you into his living quarters without so much as a second thought. You might not have shown him much kindness in return for his keeping you safe but that doesn’t mean his deeds to keep you out of harms way pluck at your heartstrings any less.

There isn’t much you can force yourself to say, and if he were to ask about more personal matters of your life, you would probably shut down like a crashing computer. But you have a sinking feeling that he already knows that, too.

“(Y/n),” your voice wavers, “but don’t let anyone know that. Keep it between us.”

“You can count on me to keep your secret,” Rung says, “I promise.”

You dry your tears, feeling much better after getting some pent up emotions out, and glance up at the softness of Rung’s face with red eyes. 

“I don’t trust promises. Not anymore.”

•••

There were so many more bots that would be better and responsible for taking care of some smart-mouthed human. Bots like Rung, Drift or even Tailgate, for that matter. Cyclonus himself could do a better job of taking care of a human.

So why did he have to get the unwanted responsibilities of taking care of you? You have no sense of when to shut your mouth and keep quiet, which adds to his enjoyment of your being aboard the ship in the first place, but now that you are his to take care of, it is a little less amusing when you mouth back. If getting beaten into the ground and near bleeding to death doesn’t faze you, what will?

That just doesn’t settle right within his processor. None of his threats work, and he can’t kill you, so putting up with your relentless commentary is the only option he has left. The whole thing makes him bristle thinking about it.

The sound of doors sliding open slap him out his thoughts and his head whips in direct of the sound, claws trembling.

“Are you done tearing the ship apart?”

“Only if I get to _tear you apart next_.”

Rodimus leans against the doorway, arms crossed and smile wide. Whirl’s optic narrows dangerously at Rodimus’ cockiness.

How dare he have the nerve to come to his room and stand in his doorway like a high king. If Whirl didn’t know any better, he might have attacked him by now. When had the Lost Light captain lost his mind so much as to invade personal spaces like he is now?

“Watch yourself. I only came here to offer another deal,” Rodimus says, using small hand gestures.

“Like I want to take another one of your deals! What is wrong with you?” Whirl bites back, jerking forward to get to Rodimus’ face.

“Just here me out. You’re going to find it very acceptable, I assure you.”

Whirl tries to find something snarky to

say back, anything to get under his captain’s gears, but nothing comes to mind. Rodimus takes the silence to continue.

“You’re going to ‘care’ for her. That is something you just can’t get out of. Everyone has a job to do aboard my ship, and taking care of the brat will be yours. However, we won’t need her forever,” Rodimus trails on, head cocking to the side.

Whirl’s ruffled metaphorical feathers begin to flatten and his interest is more than piqued. “Spit it out. Tell me what you want.”

“You can kill her when all is said and done. That is my deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter gets into more of the Whirl/Reader relationship you all came for. I can definitely promise you that. 
> 
> What I cannot promise is them liking each other at first. At all.


	7. Stuck with Me

There was something rightfully disturbing about your thoughts for the past hour. A bunch of jumbled up ideas and realizations that churned your insides until they felt as if they were ground into nothing.

Your conversation with Rung had died down after awhile of small talk, which both of you admitted to hating, and you decided to sleep until Ratchet stopped by to check your injuries. He laid down and carefully cradled you to his chassis where you could hear the drumming of his spark in the midst of silence. You felt unusually safe in the moment, body tucked against him and cuddled with such care, but something kept you from dozing off.

Something was nagging at the back of your mind, like an itch you couldn’t scratch. The thought was there, swallowing up practically everything that you had been running over throughout the day.

Why did you always revert back to pondering on Whirl? Whirl, of all bots you should be thinking about, was _not_ worth any of your time. Rodimus should be your biggest concern of them all, seeing as he had trapped you here in the first place, but all your concerns would lead back to the same Cybertronian  _every single time._

You loath the very idea of being in his care for more than a second at a time, yet there is a curiosity deep within your bones that wants to know who Whirl is on the inside. Does he secretly care or is he really the sarcastic bastard everyone says he is? You doubt he has any emotions except uncontrolled anger and a sick sense of humor.

If you don’t get some idea of who this new caregiver of yours is, then you might as well throw in the towel and call it a life. Whirl isn’t very forgiving, and neither are you. That in itself isn’t a very good combination.

“Hey, Rung? You asleep?”

You watch as his lips twitch into a faint smile. A solemn expression washes over your face when his optics open to see you staring up at him, gaze heavy.

“No. I was waiting for you to fall asleep first. But it looks like you have too much on your mind,” he says in a whisper, “Would you mind sharing?”

You exhale deeply to shove down the feelings of anxiety wrapping around your chest.

“Tell me more about Whirl,” you demand, although your tone comes out as more of a plead than a demand.

Rung winces at hearing Whirl’s name. You could only describe his expression as if someone was stripping the plating from his protoform and then digging into the soft mesh underneath to tear him apart. It looked uncomfortable enough to cause your hands to tremble momentarily.

“What do you want to know?” He asks, though still sounding unsure.

Pretty much everything he does. But since nothing ever comes out that easy, you plan on getting the most vital information first.

“What was Whirl like back on Cybertron?”

Rung sits up and crosses his legs, deep in thought. You continue laying on your side, in too much pain to follow his movements.

“I didn’t know him back on Cybertron,” Rung starts, his digits running over his chin, “but from what he has told me, he used to get in a lot of trouble. Why do you think he has those claws? Surely he was not made that way.”

You blink in confusion. Rung’s almost-frown turns up at seeing your child-like curiosity peering to the surface. A burning question lingers just on the tip of your tongue but you bite it down the best you can.

“All I can tell you is that he trusts no one and isn’t mentally stable. I know why he is this way—but as for now, that is all I am willing to tell you. If you wish to know more, ask him yourself.”

A huff of disappointment leaves through your nose. “Why can’t _you_  tell me?”

Rung pushes up his glasses, smile bitter and nostalgic. You finally gather to the courage to sit upright, teeth grit together to get through the pain, and then lay a hand on Rung’s leg in an attempt to give him a sense of peace. His servo cups under your hand and gently squeezes in reassurance.

“His past in not mine to bring up.”

Your mouth opens only to close immediately. Trying to dig beneath the surface of Whirl’s past had now been deemed impossible. Rung was keeping quiet and you have no right to pry any further, and you never did in the first place. You were lucky to get a taste of answers at all. Not that it matters much now.

Whirl doesn’t care about you or your background, yet somehow you want to know his. It shouldn’t have mattered to you in the first place. But it did, and that in itself concerns you.

Rung was covering for the one-eyed Autobot. His lip plates could not be more sealed on the matter and something about not being in the know makes your skin crawl. You saw for yourself how the crew treated Rung—as if he was an accessory—yet his bleeding spark and undeniable love for his friends, if he could call them that, kept his mouth shut.

You find it almost admirable.

There is a soft knock on the door before it slides open, revealing Ratchet carrying a large box and, much to your amusement, Whirl lingering behind him. You make no movements as Ratchet makes his way inside, making idle chatter with Rung to keep the room from being so silent.

The conversation goes in one of your ears and comes out the other as all of your attention is focused on Whirl who refuses to step into the room completely. It doesn’t take long for his gaze to meet yours, and for a second you allow yourself to look over him without glaring at him with every feeling of hate you can muster.

For once his body language doesn’t shout “threatening and could easily kill you.” In fact, he looks almost nervous when you narrow your eyes in skepticism. The aura of nervousness is quickly brushed away and his optic narrows back, causing your breath to hitch.

“Are you even listening?” 

Ratchet’s snap in front of your face finally breaks the line of eyesight. You recover from your flinch with a heavy scowl that brings your whole body into a bad mood. Whirl looks away when your face changes, arms crossed and helm down to avoid any more stare-offs.

“Does it look like I heard you?” You answer back with a scoff.

“I said I need to take a look at your arm along with the rest of your wounds,” Ratchet ignores your hateful tone.

“Will I finally be able to sleep after you check everything?” You ask, gaze softening.

Ratchet nods, and for the first time, you see his mouth almost twitch into a smile before leaving as fast as it came. The small act eases your nerves enough for you to hold out your broken arm the best you can. No one misses your wince of pain and how you use your good arm to shield your stomach from being touched.

Ratchet and Rung set to work on getting your cast and bloody bandages off. You don’t believe your eyes when finally seeing the stitches for the first time. They are anything but beautiful and no doubt they will leave huge scars that will not fade over time.

“They are a bit messy. I apologize. My hands are not meant for stitching up wounds as small as yours,” Rung exvents.

“Does the sight not bother you?” Ratchet inquires.

You run your fingertips over the edges to wipe away some crusted blood that had dried around the closed punctures. Whirl makes no movements as your glance over to where he is standing, almost thankful to have him lingering in the doorway watching the chaos he caused.

“If I was the girl from a few months ago? Yeah, just one look of my arm would make me pass out. But I have seen some awful stuff out there and this doesn’t even touch any of it,” You hum thoughtfully, “and I am actually excited about having some wicked battle scars.”

Ratchet cleans you up with some alcohol and rewraps your arm in no time. You are quite thankful to have new bandages that aren’t stained red and smell like iron. Rung looks relieved, too.

“Alright, that is all I can do. Whirl will take you back to his room and you can sleep for as long as you need,” Ratchet picks up the box he brought in and walks over to push it into Whirl’s claws.

Whirl curses a few times as he fumbles to keep the box from falling. Once he finally secures it under his cockpit of a chest, he motions for Rung to bring you over. Rung scoops you into his servos with permission and brings you over to Whirl where he sets you down on his shoulder plating. You slip a few times trying to find a the perfect foothold but your feet eventually catch the edge of his chest armor.

It hurts to keep yourself upright in an almost standing position but you can manage long enough to get to Whirl’s room. The pain in breathing is bearable for now.

“Is there anything else I need to carry or deal with? Because I would love to get out of here as soon as possible,” Whirl finally says with a chuff.

“That should be all. Be careful not to hurt her further,” Ratchet chides.

Whirl rolls his optic and turns around to take his leave. “Yeah, yeah. The pipsqueak will be _fine_.”

You crane your head back to wave at Rung who looks like he is about to have a panic attack at your departure. He waves back with a shifting smile, obviously worried for your well being, and Ratchet helps calm Rung by setting a hand on his shoulder.

You would never admit it, as you would never admit a lot of things, but leaving Rung makes your heart skip a beat. The realization of leaving the only bot who cares for your wellbeing is harder than you had expected it to be. It physically strains you to be forced from the comfort of his soft features and leave your care in the servos of someone  _who doesn’t even have servos._

You’re afraid. This whole time has been nothing but a draining experience of fear and anger that melts into nothing but despondency. You had just been handed off to a warframe and the realization hadn’t hit you until the minute Rung’s servos left you.

What would Max or any of your dead family say if they saw what sorry situation you had finagled yourself into this time? If they felt every bitter taste of emotions you have brewing in your head, they would be highly disappointed—just as you are. You are kind of glad no one is around to see you fall so miserably into a situation there is no getting out of it alive.

Your goal had been to survive until you could get out, but now you find yourself trying to _just_  survive instead. There may be no getting out.

This could be it, and that reality scares you more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of forshadowing in this chapter. Just thought I would let you guys know. 
> 
> Whirl didn’t say much in this chapter but next chapter couldn’t be anymore different. The story will take a big twist soon, I promise.


End file.
